Not your usual angst
by lostlikealice
Summary: Draco has a cold, and as usual in Hogwarts, things won't stay ordinary for long. Chapter 3: Harry and Draco make a wager, Hermione thoroughly confuses Draco, and pairings get set up. Let the chaos begin....
1. Of Misery and Murphy's Law

A/N: Dear God. This is frightening; I'm writing a HP humor fic, and it's not one in the morning. Um. This may or may not be funny, but I'm trying and that's what's important. I must say that the idea which will begin, I think, next chapter is not completely mine, but I had it for a while then read a favorite fic of mine which egged it on even farther. Um. Stupid disclaimer, I know, but I can't say anything yet..

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. (insert rabid book-fan commercialization is bad rant) Um. And I don't own Kleenex, because I don't have any money. And, evil corporate behemoth, if I were making money off of this and if writing was my livelihood, I'd attempt to write a bit better.

Chapter 1: Of Misery and Murphy's Law

Draco Malfoy was miserable.

However, this was not, for once, attributed to the normal pangs of misery having to do with loneliness and love most 16 year olds had. He wished it was that easy.

  
He had a cold. And it was not going away.

He sat in the corner of the Slytherin common and brooded as usual. He was with some difficulty trying to hide a Kleenex box. 

The tingling came on. A soft groan came from his sickened throat. "Another bloody sneeze," he croaked, then the sneeze exploded out of him. He cleaned it up with some effort with a Kleenex or two. "Bloody hell."

As if it wasn't bad enough, he brooded, my beautiful voice had to go, too.

He had to suffer like any _Muggle_, because even magical cures weren't working. This was a particularly resilient germ and appeared to be evolving on a higher plane than usual. Madame Pomfrey was working on something, but the Malfoys were not known for their patience. This made it quite a shock that Draco didn't appreciate the science of it.

A little note from Snape, Draco reasoned, a peek in the Restricted Section, he'd find a strong potion soon enough. A _really_ strong one.

Potions with the Gryffindors. Apparently Dumbledore or whoever scheduled the classes thought that competition was healthy. This, in Draco's eyes, was true to everyone _except_ Neville Longbottom.

Draco trudged in and up to the desk. He could hear the Terrific Trio twittering behind him. Snape looked up at him. "Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy. What is it?"

"Professor, sir, I was wondering if--" Draco nearly hacked a cough into the Potion Master's face but covered his mouth in time. Snape revealed the tiniest twitch of disgust. "If you would write me a note so I could check out a book in the Restricted Section." Snape blinked, and Draco felt he had to explain further. "Advanced Potions, you see, sir."

"Ah," Snape said. He smirked, but only because he probably didn't know how to smile. "Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. I trust you to choose your books safely." He scribbled out a note.

"Thank you, sir." Draco pocketed the note. He settled into his seat next to Goyle, took out the note and read it.

__

Draco Malfoy has my full permission to do research for a more advanced study of potions, and check out as many books as needed from the Restricted Section.

Severus Snape. 

He smirked--not, however, with much enthusiasm--and put it away. "Today we study the effects of armadillo bile in potions," Snape said. Draco made an effort, indistinct as it may have been, to look enthralled.

The sneeze came unexpectedly. As his head was quite close to the tabletop, the sneeze jerked his head up and back into the table with amazing force. "Aaagh!" His hands clutched over his face protectively. He let out a curse word that didn't seem to be English. When he pulled his hands away, there was blood.

Ron snorted in laughter, and a moment later the rest of the Gryffindors, needless to say, were in hysterics. A few Slytherins laughed, but Draco gave them looks of poison and they went silent.

Pansy came over and began fussing over his nose. "Oh, Draco," she fawned. "Are you all right?"

"All right?" he said. "I'm bloody well not, get off!"

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. His eyes flicked over the bloody mess that was Draco's face. "Pray go down to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey heal your nose. It might be broken." He glared over the rest of the class. "As for the rest of you," he said acidly, "you will now study and take notes on what I say. Armadillo bile is a potent ingredient--"

Draco left the dungeons, clutching at his nose as if it would fall off. "Bloody cold," he said, thought it over and smirked. "No pun intended."

-----------------

The Gryffindor common room was currently exploding with laughter in about one minute intervals.

"Okay, so I can tell Malfoy's sick," Ron was saying to those in the center. "He's all sniffling and his eyes are all red. Oh, and you _know_ I pitied him _right away_." 

"Get on with it!" someone yelled.

"All right, all right!" Ron leaned forward in a conspiratory way. "So suddenly he stars wheezing and.. BAM! There he is, just sitting there and suddenly he sneezes _INTO_ the table." The laughter exploded again. Once it subsided, Ron continued. "He pulls away his hands and there's _blood_. He broke his own nose!"

Amid the laughter, Harry was not amused.

As has been mentioned, Draco's strain of cold was quite resilient. In fact, in the after wash of Draco's sneeze, Harry Potter was infected.

He was consequently miserable.

Had Draco Malfoy known this, he might have felt better.

His nose had been healed quite fast by Madame Pomfrey, who handed him yet another potion on the way out. It smelled of cabbage. He drank it anyway; he nearly bit his tongue off trying to swallow it. He grabbed the note from Snape--and naturally, a breath mint--and he headed to the library.

You may or may not have heard of Murphy's Law. It states that when the worst possible thing can happen, it will. It's usually quite true, even more so in fiction and cinema.

Watch Draco enter the Restricted Section. See him wander, trying to glimpse the title of every book. See him take the book titled _Varied Potions for the Advanced Master._

You see it too, don't you? But Draco doesn't.

An unfortunate twist of fate is headed his way. And when it hits.. it ain't gonna be pretty.


	2. Of Potions and Folded Parchment

A/N: *Grins* Took a while, but it's here. Originally, this was going to be the "charrie-turns-into-female/male" fic, but I rewrote it after I realized what a cliché that was. Gah. Anyway, here. Here's where Murphy's Law hits. Hehehehehe. And here it hits Harry… this is still slightly exposition. Just wait until the Trio hits… *Laughs evilly* Read, dammit!

Chapter 2--Of Potions and Folded Parchment

Harry awoke to his bed shaking. With as muddled as his mind was, it took a few moments for him to realize that this was not usual. He looked up; this was quite more work than it sounds. It required ungluing his eyes and wrenching his neck up from its seemingly permanent position.

Ron was the perpetrator. "Come on," Ron said. "We've got about four minutes 'til Potions and Snape will _murder_ us! Come on!"

This rang clear. Harry sat up as quickly as possible. "Four minutes?" he said weakly. Ron nodded. "Bloody hell."

Approximately four and three quarters of a minute later, Ron and Harry ran into the potions dungeon, panting for breath. Harry fell into a coughing fit that only slowed when he saw the look on Snape's face.

"Professor, *cough* we were *cough* just a little *cough*--" Harry collapsed onto the desk miserably.

"I don't care for your excuses. Twenty points." Ron winced. "I return to my lecture on lacewings," Snape said. He turned away from the students and began to lecture.

Draco glanced at the list of ingredients he had stowed in his pocket. Lacewings, monarch caterpillars, nothing all that bad except... Dementor extract? Extract from a Dementor, sure, but from what part of the-- 

Halfway through this thought pattern, in self-protection, his mind deleted the idea entirely.

This was going to be difficult to get, whichever part of the Dementor it came from. Then again, the potion was called a Sensory Activation potion. As of right now he could barely see, barely hear and he had no sense of smell or taste. An activation of senses would be a likely cure, and if it wasn't, who wouldn't mind waiting a few days in the hospital wing?

Everything was looking so optimistic that Draco tried all the tricks that killed the ladies. His swagger was almost back, except it was a little stunted because he had to shield his nose with a handkerchief or Kleenex in case of a mucular explosion. It wasn't helped by the fact that every one of his muscles hurt and standing vaguely upright and carrying a knapsack was damn near impossible. 

In the smirk, however, he persevered. He had sunk to a level he hadn't before--general dermatological magic--and adjusted the rosy tint of his nose, that would have been vaguely charming had he not been a pale blonde, with a Lightening Charm. It lasted 40 minutes, so he had to run to the bathroom and replenish the spell at those times along with his Kleenex. As he had been reminded in childhood, it takes 43 muscles to frown and 17 to smile. A smirk, he figured, was an average of the two, and the pain of using 30 muscles, though a lot, was a pretty good sacrifice to make to at least not feel entirely pathetic.

He held it long enough to smirk at Granger, then crashed back onto the Potions tabletop--this time having the presence of mind to fall with his head to the side. He could barely hear her say, "Is Malfoy dying?" and Crabbe was shaking him awake.

Crabbe said one of the longest sentences Draco had ever heard him mutter; "Look, there's Potter." 

Draco was about to waste the effort of saying something sarcastic, but dismissed it and looked over. His face twisted into the best representation of glee that took the least amount of effort, leaving him looking more like a ferret than he probably would have believed. 

Snape was crouched over Potter's tabletop like an overgrown vulture dripping with grease. Potter had just gotten another 20 points taken from Gryffindor because he, too, apparently had fallen asleep about the same time as Draco had. Ahh, favoritism. Potter huddled into himself and snuffled into a tissue.

The poor bastard's got my cold, Draco realized with a jolt of sadistic glee. Misery may love company, but misery with a very persistent head and chest cold loved no company better than its archenemy. 

Draco painstakingly pocketed the list of ingredients and tried to pay attention. It wasn't like he'd miss anything he didn't know.

He'd try to get the extract of... well, the extract from Snape and if not, he'd steal it. He'd make the potion and then! he'd sell it to Potter for 20 sickles a drop.

Ahh, to be young and villainous. He tried to laugh villainously, but just ended up in a coughing fit that didn't end until Crabbe whacked him across the shoulder. But it was the effort that was important. 

He'd make this potion or die trying.

-------

Why do you need extract of Dementor?" Snape had a look of extreme mistrust on his face, masked as his usual... suspicious look. Anyway...

"Potion, sir," he said. "To help with... my cold."

"Let me see the list. You know what potions are legal or illegal, I am sure of that. If you even give an inkling that you are brewing up poisons, you will be expelled."

"Of course not, sir," Draco said, and was surprised that he meant it. Stupid honesty. It wasn't a villainous trait. He attempted a scowl and handed Snape the list.

"From _Varied Potions_? Hmm. Yes. Sensory Activation, correct? Well, it seems to be in order. Yes." Snape nodded to Draco, opened a cabinet behind him, and took out on small vial. "How much do you need?"

"Ten drops, sir." That was twice the amount needed, but it paid to be cautious. Snape handed him a vial with ten drops of silvery liquid that was presumably the extract.

"Be careful, it's... very potent."

"Sure." Draco trudged out of the dungeon, into Slytherin common and fell headfirst into a couch. Blaise Zabini gave him a critical look and tossed her dark hair.

"Hey, Malfoy, you don't look so good."

"Thanks," came his voice from the cushion.

"Need any help?"

"No, I'm fine."

"That position looks painful."

"Every position is painful." 

"Oh." Blaise blinked. "So what were you talking to Snape about?"

"My salvation," Draco said into the cushion. He struggled up and regarded her levelly. "You don't have anything else to do. Want to help?"

She realized that this was a cry for help from the proud Slytherin boy. "Sure," she said. "What is it?"

"A potion."

"Ah, for this cold of yours?" He nodded. "I'll get my things," she said, and went up to the girls' dorm. By the time she got back, Draco was just settling into the chair by the fire. "What do we need?"

He tossed her the list and she caught it. Blaise wasn't a Chaser this year for nothing. "This it?" Her eyebrows raised as she saw the last ingredient on the list. "Extract of Dementor?" she said weakly.

"Don't think about it. It's not a pretty train of thought. Anyway, I have it. Do you have the rest?" Draco sneezed violently into a Kleenex, consequently destroying it. 

"Bless you," Blaise said offhand, "and yes." She opened up a box and flourished the ingredients. She hooked her cauldron over the fire and said, "Let's see.. what's first?"

He gave her the most condescending look he could. "The water."

"Oh." She shrugged and said, "_Aqueus_!" and water sloshed into the pot. "Now what?"

"The lacewings, the caterpillars, armadillo bile and the raven feathers. In that order. Then let stew for five hours."

Blaise sighed. Draco coughed. This was going to be a long, long night. 

--------

The potion was nearly done five hours later.

"Thank God," Draco said as the potion bubbled dark blue. "Now I add the extract and I drink away." He levitated the cauldron right in front of him, poured in the extract and watched it turn the potion to a shade of light blue. He directed it over to the table and poured it into three long vials. He pocketed two and raised one to Blaise.

"To health," he said, and drank the whole thing.

To any sane person, this is a definite warning sign that, though the subject may actually heal the person saying this, it will definitely not be good for the mental health of this person.

In other words, Draco is now going to be royally and hilariously screwed. 

It was viscous, thick like honey and Draco gagged as it burned a hot trail down his throat. Blaise grabbed him as he nearly fell facefirst to the floor and pushed him back into the chair. He fell into a coughing fit, then stopped.

"It's gone." He sniffed. "It's gone." He touched his eyes and opened them wide. "I can see! I can hear! Dear God, free at last, free at last!" 

Blaise applauded, and grinned at him. "That's great, Malfoy," she said.

__

"Bastard. I've been flipping my hair at him for five years and he doesn't even look at me. What a waste of a MarvelBra. Well, he'll never get to see me with my shirt off, the arrogant git."

He flinched up, glared at Blaise. "What did you say?" he said.

She blinked ingenuous eyes. "I said 'that's great'," she said. "What do you mean?"

"What did you say about--" He pressed his fingers to his temples. "Never mind. I have to get some sleep." Draco started to leave, but he stopped as he saw Blaise starting to go to her dorm with her things. "Oh, and Blaise?"

She looked up at him. "Hmm?"

"Save the MarvelBra for Avery. He thinks you're ravishing." Draco swept away before Blaise could hit him with anything. 

__

Sensory Activation potion? He ran into his dormitory, grabbed _Varied Potions_ and flipped to the page he marked. 

__

Sensory Activation Potion

Will enhance all deficient senses and increase one's initial sensitivity to the world and people around them. 

1.5 L water

Five grams dried lacewings

2.5 grams monarch caterpillar

.5 L armadillo bile

5 raven feathers

5 drops extract of Dementor

There was a funny tear at that part of the page. He smoothed it down and felt a crease there. Draco's stomach dropped. The page was folded over. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the page.

__

Do not decrease or increase any amounts in this potion. Take only ten drops. Every ten drops last for two weeks and there is no immediate cure except time.

He shuffled through his pockets until he got one of the two vials of Sensory Activation potion and stared at it. It was at least twenty five drops. He looked in the mirror in vague horror. "Mind-reading," he said out loud, and consequently fainted.

A/N: Funny yet?


	3. Of Mindreading and Martyrdom

A/N: Pairings begin here. This is taking a hell of a lot of setup, but I think it'll be worth the work. I warn you, at least three love triangles will be here, so… um, that's that. Moving on, this one stereotypes almost everybody and is possibly the weirdest one yet. I think it's funny. Okay, now read. Yay for Blaise!

Chapter 3: Of Mind-reading and Martyrdom 

Draco was awoken the next morning by a cup of water in the face. "Get up," Crabbe said, and lumbered away. 

He managed to change even though the place where he'd hit his head hurt like madness. It wasn't like he had to make a choice--black robes or black robes wasn't much of a fashion question. 

"Mmmm. Breakfast. Eggs." Crabbe had been dull before, but now that Draco could hear every single thought, he was even duller.

Once in the Great Hall, Draco sincerely tried to block out all the things he heard. It was hard, especially with all of the girls. One Slytherin girl that he wasn't sure of kept wondering who was wearing what kind of shorts. It was rather unnerving.

Blaise shot him a look. _"Arrogant git, thinks that I like him, but I don't, because he's a poncy drama queen."_ He glared back. She looked affronted and looked away with her nose in the air, ignoring him.

The psychic noise of people's thoughts was deafening. Maybe that was why Trelawney didn't come down to meals. Eventually breakfast ended and he went off to Dark Arts with Crabbe and Goyle filling his mind with their thoughts that chairs would consider dull.

The Terrific Gryffindor Trio came in, with Weasley and Granger barking at each other about something. Potter lumbered in after, huddled over a tissue as though clinging to his life.

"What an annoying git. Why do I even say a word? He never ruddy listens, I may as well be talking to myself." Granger glared away from Weasley. "Shut it, Ron, I don't want to hear it."

"What a bloody know-it-all. Why do I even try to stand her? She never shuts up. Why do I even listen to her?" Weasley glared away from Granger. "Fine, I don't care. Do what you like, Hermione."

"Could you two... *cough* keep it down?" Potter rasped. Here Draco saw his opportunity. He tried to focus in on Potter's thoughts, and they hit him sluggishly.

"Stupid cold... I wish I was dead... maybe I am, and this is hell." Potter glanced over at Draco, then glared. _"Why the hell is Malfoy looking at me? Wait a second... he doesn't have the cold anymore, the bastard."_

"Malfoy," he rasped. Draco tried to ignore him. "Malfoy," he rasped louder. 

Draco glanced over. "What," he said offhand.

"You gave me that cold of yours, that's what." Potter hacked a cough. "You don't have it anymore. What did you do?"

"I'll never tell," he said at a stage whisper. Potter glared with his sinus-narrowed eyes. Draco shrugged. "A potion. If you can find out which one I took, maybe I'll give you some."

"Is that it?" Potter sounded incredulous.

Draco considered, and added, "For a price, mind you."

"I knew money had to be attached to it."

"Well, you have some, so the opportunity is just impossible to resist." Draco gestured out. "Had it been Weasley at whom my unknowing biological weapons had been fired, I would have found a much juicier way to do this. He's just barely got a pot to piss in, you know." Weasley was too busy ignoring Granger to ignore him. Draco shrugged. "Contrary to all evidence, I do have a heart."

Potter coughed. "I'll take this... challenge of yours. Anything else?"

Draco considered. "You have ten days, and Granger can't help you. The potion was quite difficult, so if you figure it out... well, I'll be generous and say a Galleon per drop."

"I could just make it myself."

"Not without stealing something from Snape's personal stores." The Evil Smirk(tm) settled onto his face. Ahh, health. 

Potter deferred. "How many drops?"

"Twenty-five."

Potter glared--that is, squinted with malice--and rasped, "That's twenty-five Galleons!"

Draco laughed. "You have an astonishing talent for multiplication, Potter. Twenty-five times one equals twenty-five. Amazing."

"Sod off."

"You have loads more in the bank anyway. You're nearly as rich as I am. Twenty-five Galleons will barely dent your gold, and is little to pay to free yourself from that _dreadful_ virus, isn't it?" 

"How do you know what's in my Gringotts vault?"

"Let's say it's an.. educated guess."

Potter shrugged, or at least made a valiantly Gryffindor attempt at it. "Well then, I suppose the wager's on." He put out his hand, as though Draco would shake it.

Draco turned away, yawned. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it is."

------------

"So he gets that stupid cold of his, gives it to you, and holds the cure hostage after he cures himself with it?" Ron drummed his fingers on the table in the corner of the library. "Bloody wanker."

"You're not helping," Harry said. He was paging through a huge tome of potions, all of which seemed pretty useless. His senses were dulled by the pain of the cold, but sharpened to a point which was only there to intensify the pain even more. Ron was currently poking that point. If Ron drummed his fingers one more time, Harry was going to drop the stupid potion book right onto Ron's hand. 

"Why can't Hermione help you with this? I'm not feeling up to this sort of mental exercise," Ron said. He looked at Harry to see spectacled green eyes squinting malice at him.

"The 'bloody wanker,' as you so delicately put it, that is Malfoy, refused to let Hermione help." Harry slammed the book down, and Ron had the sense to move his hands. "No more tonight. I can't take much more of this." He collapsed onto the table. "I want to die."

"Harry," Ron lowered his voice. "It's all right."

"No, it's not! I swear to God, I'm going to kill him." He raised his head, only to start coughing. "Confounded bastard," he choked out.

Cho Chang appeared, gave Harry a pitying and puzzled look, and passed by quite quickly. Harry let out as much of a groan as he could and sank back down.

"I tried to warn you," Ron said offhand.

"Just when I look my worst," Harry said into the table.

Ron laughed. "The down-and-out look looks great on you. Now stop whinging on and let's get to the dormitory. I have a feeling Snape will martyr you if you fall asleep in Potions again."

"If by martyr you mean take 50 points, yes."

"I think McGonagall would martyr you for that." Ron sniggered.

Harry gave him a pitiful look. "Could you help me stand? I think my legs went numb."

"Can't you tell?"

"I don't know, I can't feel them." 

------------

Hermione slammed a huge Defense book atop a wavering stack of books on the table. Ginny gave her a slightly anxious look--or at least, aimed it somewhere above the top of the stack.

"I think that's too many books, Hermione."

"Nonsense." Hermione took a section of the stack and placed it lower. "I think it's just enough. You'll be done with werewolves in no time."

Ginny tried a different tack. "Hermione, there must be at least ten books here."

"Then we'd better start, shouldn't we?"

Draco was trundling through the library, hoping to stumble upon Potter, and likely enough, Weasley, for a taunt or two. Instead, he came upon the girl Weasley and Granger. He took a stop.

"Hello, my dear ladies." He swept a bow in front of them. Neither the Weasley nor Granger looked very impressed. He fixed Granger with a serious look. "I sincerely hope you aren't going to help Golden Boy on his potion quest, Granger."

Granger rolled her eyes. _"I've got better things to do than to help Harry maintain his ego." _"Malfoy, if Harry needed my help, he wouldn't be the second highest student in the class. He's beaten you at everything else, naturally he'll beat you at this, too."

Draco considered glaring, but thought better of it and ignored her comment. "Second in the class? Under you, I suppose. But that's a place he's used to being, I bet."

The Weasley coughed, but it seemed to Draco to be a disguised laugh. Granger shot her a look, obviously thinking the same. _"Real likely, Harry going for a girl." _The thought confused Draco so much he barely could register Granger's response. "I think he'd much prefer you to be under him than me, Malfoy," she said, and yanked up a stack of books as though they weighed nothing. "Come on, Ginny."

The Weasley gave him a look and let loose a snicker. _"I'd bet anything that he spends more time in front of a mirror than in front of a schoolbook. It shows." _After another shouted command by Granger, she grabbed the remaining books and hurried off. 

Draco's thought process was skipping, repeating the same idea over and over again.

What did she mean, Potter'd prefer me under him rather than Granger? And why wouldn't he go for a girl? He shuddered. _I hope she didn't mean... ugh._

Draco's head snapped back, towards the Weasley and Granger checking out half the library with Madam Pince. _Wait... "it shows," she said?_ He shook his head. "You must be kidding me."


End file.
